A Cool Brew

My first solo assignment for Going Places was quite an adventure.

I've only had a passing interest for herbal tea. Late nights and a love of hot, spicy foods have given me lots of heat-related problems. It wasn't until this assignment came along that I began to learn more.

Pages 54 and 55 of "A Cool Brew", Going Places, October 2010

Compressing over 2,000 words of notes into a 1,200-word piece was hard, almost as hard as figuring out the names, attributes and properties of the common Chinese herbs used in the more common herbal teas. The ubiquitous bei zhi cao or puk ji chou, for instance, is either made of the Chinese cinquefoil, or some other herb with similar properties. And the baihua sheshecao apparently has two Latin aliases.

Pages 56 and 57 of "A Cool Brew", Going Places, October 2010

Last page of "A Cool Brew",
Going Places, October 2010

My adventures into the lives of these herbal tea vendors unearthed more than what the allotted space could hold. I must've drunk more herbal brews in the weeks of leg work than what I would usually take in a year.

The life of a herbal tea vendor is hard. Virtually everyone I spoke to agreed that they are most likely the last generation to man their stalls, which have decades of history behind them. While some vendors have gone big (such as Hor Yan Hor, now Hovid Berhad), many others will eventually disappear. I've patronised stalls such as Hu Zhong Tian near Petaling Street, which I still remember from my Informatics College days. I can't imagine stalls like that disappearing entirely.

But they will, eventually. Bottled, canned and packet herbal teas are finding their way to shelves at supermarkets, hypermarkets and your neighbourhood 7-Eleven or Chinese medicine hall. For slightly more traditional households, pre-packaged herbs for some common herbal teas are available at many Chinese medicine halls.

The editing and photography are, as usual, excellent. Thanks also to Hovid Berhad, and the herbal tea vendors who helped make this article possible.

Future Of Book Reviews

Ellen Whyte called me up out of the blue for input for this article, published in the current issue of MPH's Quill (October - December 2010). I said quite a few things during the phone interview, but I can't remember exactly what.

I think it's the first time I've been interviewed for an article. My bit is right near the end.

"Making Web 2.0 Work for You", MPH Quill, October - December 2010

Turns out it's more about social media on the Web than just about book reviews, which Whyte also (more or less) covers in the same issue. That article was more interesting, as it talks about one thing I do for a living.

I am not, by any means, the only book reviewer out there. Anybody can set up a blog and post reviews of books they've read. What probably helps a reviewer stand out is how he/she can make the book sound interesting, metaphorically taking it apart and pointing out the gems hidden within, and telling readers why they should care about them.

However, with sites such as Goodreads and LibraryThing, whither book reviewing? All one needs, perhaps, is a look at the allocated number of stars or positive reviews for a book to make a decision on whether or not to read. Given their prices, many paper tomes are more like investments, in terms of money and time spent.

I want to keep reviewing books for as long as I can, as long as I'm allowed to. But with technology helping us kill the things we used to love and have time for (such as reading books), do I really want to go hi-tech all the way?

Readings With A Runny Nose

Just my luck to be at a Readings when my nose is running like a leaky tap. Of course, I also couldn't remember if I had my dose of Telfast-D that day. Accidental double dose? Probably not with thing containing pseudoephedrine.

One thing I noticed when I walked into the exhibition area.

Truth be told, Readings was never quite the same without the piggies. So glad they were back. And just in time. They had a great line-up this time, half of whom did some form of poetry, or were poets themselves.

Quite a few books on sale this time, mostly from Matahari Books and ZI Publications. By now, I'm more forgiving of participants plugging their books during these sessions, even more so of first-time authors or publishers. Sometimes, they don't even have a platform for plugging.

I had no pictures of the first half of the session. To my dismay, my rechargeable batteries emptied themselves, less than two weeks after I last charged them. I went out for plain old alkaline batteries during the intermission. I'll be switching to Sony CycleEnergy.

A notable presence was Australian hip-hop artiste and poet Omar Musa, winner of the 2008 Australian Poetry Slam. Omar was, like Oz's new finance minister Penny Wong and some of the people I met in Melbourne last year, from here (he was born in Sabah).

After some poems that aren't really poems (there was one about Nike Air Force Ones and his grandma back in Sabah), he wrapped up his turn with a rap piece about... warning the audience about the dangers of forgetfulness? I forget. All I remembered was that it was good, and it mentioned food.

What I won't forget after that evening was to take my goddamn runny-nose meds at least three hours before leaving the house.

Another poet, Shivani Siva, recited several pieces, including one about an evening at the National Mosque under a yam-coloured sky, a python on the road, and a love poem with blood. I didn't see her after the intermission.

Jacqueline-Ann Surin needed no introduction. After launching Found in Malaysia on 16 September, she came with one of Those Effing Guys, Ezra Zaid, to sell a few copies of the book.

She read a few extracts from it, where interviewees for their "Found in Malaysia" segment spoke about May 13. The next edition will be interesting, because one of their recent interviewees was Ibrahim Ali. No, really. Not talkin' $#!+.

Thato Ntshabele, winner of Poetry Underground's Poetry Cup for August, came with his friend Andrew. Both are Batswana, and currently studying at Limkokwing. Their pieces were written for Botswana's Independence Day, and it was their turn after the intermission.

Andrew's piece, a moving tribute to his country and its youth, was so similar in context to a dignitary's speech he heard, Andrew was curious about "what he was smoking."

Thato's paean to home was titled, "Pula". Pula is Botswana's motto, and the name of its currency. The word means "rain", and since much of the country is also part of the Kalahari desert, "rain" also means "blessing".

By the time they were done, some of us may have wondered what they were smoking, and if it works for us, too.

Amir Muhammad's turn was a bit democratic. "Politics, religion, or sex?" he asked the audience, before reading the corresponding topic picks out of his two books: Rojak (politics, or more precisely, the satirical "subversive sign language" short story) and 120 Malay Movies (sex).

Food and sex were dished out by Hisham Rais, the last reader for the afternoon. He read excerpts from Tapai, a collection of his articles written for Off The Edge. The "wandering bon vivant" and prison food connoisseur at one point went on about satay, wine pairings, the chemistry in the smell of tripe and other things.

The other piece was a review of Pavilion KL's Carat Club, which sold food and diamond jewelry. I still remember the piece; Bluetoffee Press editor and Off The Edge reader See Tshiung Han wrote in about it, noting that the chef's name had three different spellings - "pretty unfortunate mistakes" that I missed. I never lived it down, and I told him so. I think I also promised him a drink for doing my work for me that time.

Dessert was a letter - a "book review" - from a concerned, well-meaning reader. He translated each sentence of the Bahasa Melayu (or "Bahasa Orang Asli"/native language, as he put it) letter into English.

As I suspected then, as is often the case with Rais, it had to do with his "drinking and wenching problems". Towards the end, the writer hoped that nobody from JAKIM (our Department of Islamic Development) would read this book, and that he would "find his way again". An English re-reading of each sentence was unnecessary - in either language, the letter was hilarious.

We were all so wrapped up in Rais' witty, boisterous and bawdy delivery, we forgot about the two children in the audience. It was perhaps the best education they - and the rest of us - received this year.

(Not Quite) A Tribute to Dr Mahathir

When I first got word about this assignment, I was quite... nervous. At first I thought they were sending Andrew Sia for this one. At the time, I felt I didn't command the vocabulary or the experience to do it justice.

Now that it's out, I'm so relieved, and I don't want to continue with this preamble.

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A tribute to Dr Mahathir
Muzikal Tun Mahathir marks the milestones in the former premier's life.

first published in The Star, 29 September 2010

Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad was the only Prime Minister my generation knew when we were growing up. We don't really need reminders of just how important he is. The tributes to him, since he left office in 2003, have been almost ceaseless. So we should have seen this coming.

The staging of Muzikal Tun Mahathir was said to coincide with the Merdeka month and Malaysia Day celebrations. The story starts from Tun's birth and highlights include life during the Japanese Occupation, his medical school days, meeting and marrying Tun Dr Siti Hasmah Mohd Ali, running Klinik Maha, writing The Malay Dilemma, his time as Prime Minister, and his "departure" from politics. The production ends with an ageing Tun lamenting the Malays' need for crutches, and his vow to continue the struggle.

The production is, if I read correctly, a tribute to the man; the producers wanted to stage a theatre piece about a national figure who's still alive. Tun's letter is reproduced in the programme as a stamp of approval. "I have no objections to plans for a musical about me," said Tun in the letter. "My only hope is that it's based on fact."

And they just had to have a Mahathir family member in the cast: Tun's youngest son, Mazhar, who plays two minor roles.

Let me clarify: I'm no fan of Tun's, but that's not why I didn't like the musical very much. It looked like Istana Budaya had huge aspirations for the play, judging from the casting, the grand set pieces, and flashy computer graphics projected against a big white backdrop. To the average Joe, it's just another lavish, star-studded piece of populist theatre.

Many of the 27 chapters (says the programme) of the over-two-hour musical representing the milestones in Tun's eventful life were so short, they could have probably done without them. For instance, did they need to have the actor playing Tun Razak giving a speech on why the New Economic Policy was needed back then? All that's probably in our bones.

Then we have scenes like the one that featured megaprojects such as the Sepang F1 Circuit, KLCC and Putrajaya, and Tun's devastated supporters at a nasi kandar restaurant who tuned in to his teary 2002 announcement.

Got a copy of the programme? Just look at the lyrics to some of the songs. Imagine "The Tun is great!" being tattooed onto each little grey cell in one's brain.

The main cast members didn't look like they were being challenged by their stage roles. Erra Fazira played Dr Siti Hasmah quite well, never mind my suspicions she was also a popular choice.

I felt a bit sorry for Datuk Jalaluddin Hassan; the man has a huge presence, but was cast as Tun's father, who didn't get a lot of lines or stage time.

The actors playing Tun from childhood to adulthood seemed quite convincing. Esma Daniel in particular was very much the Dr M I grew up watching on TV – right down to the drawl and mannerisms – during a "live telecast interview" with Misha Omar as a journalist.

The dialogue and jokes, with a mix of rather contemporary English and Bahasa Malaysia, certainly made the production more enjoyable. Tapi, pada tahun 60an dan 70an ada orang pakai ke, "U" and "I" (But in the 70s and 60s, do people say "U" and "I")? Ada Poslaju ke (have Pos Laju) in the late 1960s? Thanks to the strong background music and the speakers' powerful reverbs, it was hard to make out the dialogue, lyrics or punchlines, which was a real shame.

The programme book does highlight the featured parts of Tun's life but does not describe the lesser-known characters. Mohd Qhauhd Abd Rashid, for instance, plays this "Aziz" character, but there is no further mention of who "Aziz" is.

Not all the chapters were properly explained, either. The only clues to what Chapter 26: "Peak Dance Drama" supposedly depicts, with its arm band-tearing and keris-waving, came later from Wikipedia. The on-screen dates seemed to coincide with the terms of Tun's three deputies: Musa Hitam, Ghafar Baba and Anwar Ibrahim.

Nor was the night trouble-free. In a chapter about a covert, late-night anti-Malayan Union poster plastering, a piece of one of the fake columns broke off and fell onto the stage as it was being lowered. Nobody was injured, but I was sure plenty of nervous glances were directed at the ceiling thereafter.

When Misha took the stage to deliver one last song, the amplified vocals spluttered, and died about halfway through. But Misha didn't quit. She rose to the occasion by singing anyway, her unamplified voice barely audible from my seat. The audience applauded.

Misha boleh!

Finally, one of the stagehands gallantly offered her a microphone so she could finish the song.

When the cast took their bow, the applause for Misha was among the loudest.

I guess, in the end, the musical is not really about Tun Mahathir, but about a bunch of artistes and stars, and Istana Budaya giving their all for a good night's entertainment.

There were technical errors and onstage glitches, but everyone did their best to keep the show going until the curtains fell. That spirit, at least, is worthy of support, regardless of how one feels about the man.

Found in Malaysia

It was perhaps fitting that something titled "Found in Malaysia" would be launched on Malaysia Day. 16 September 1963 was when Persekutuan Tanah Melayu became Malaysia, after Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore joined (the latter seceded a few years later). Some forty years later, it seems the idea of a "Malaysia" is still kind of hazy.

This country appears fond of pigeon-holing us into firmly defined circles to satisfy some strange sense of security: The Other easier to spot if it is marked as different. Really? What about China, where everyone looks the same? For a more contemporary reference, read some of the recent headlines. We are, it seems, our worst enemies.

Found in Malaysia is also the title of a series of interviews by online editorial "The Nut Graph". When some Umno man called non-Malays "pendatang" or squatters, it was the reporter who reported it that got (briefly) detained as a security threat. The book is a compilation of some fifty "Found in Malaysia" interviews that have been published online. One aim, is perhaps to show that even though there may be a little pendatang in all of us, we're Malaysians first, thank you very much.

The launch of the book at Leonardo's Dining Room & Wine Loft, along Jalan Bangkung, was officiated by The Nut Graph's editor, Jacqueline-Ann Surin. A panel discussion about politics and Malaysian literature followed. Journalist and lit-critic Umapagan Ampikaipakan moderated the panel, made up of author Chuah Guat Eng, scholar and poet Eddin Khoo, lawyer and poet Cecil Rajendra, and politician Zaid Ibrahim, who arrived a bit late.

Chuah Guat Eng tentatively laid some blame on the education system for the current state of literature in the country. I remember fondly the English literature classes during my school days - who knew that the Education Ministry pulled the subject out of the curriculum, when Anwar Ibrahim was in charge?

Chuah also said the general Malaysian population don't seem to "get" fiction as much as they do non-fiction - something to do with the lack of imagination, I think. "When I wrote in the first person, it was assumed to be 'autobiographical'," she recalled, speaking of her book, Days of Change. "When I wrote as a Malay male, they assumed that I once had an affair with one."

Did I hear that right? I had a voice recorder with me that day, but the battery went flat. I could have sworn I recharged it less than a month ago...

Cecil Rajendra was even more blunt where our lack of a reading culture was concerned. "About ten percent of Malaysians read", he thundered, "and out of that ten percent, about 0.01 percent read poetry." He recalled people reading in airports at Dublin and Abu Dhabi, but when he returned to KL, "nobody was reading" - "culture shock," he called it.

With regards to imagination, Eddin Khoo noted that the need to dream or imagine is stronger in oppressed countries. "Works out of post-communist Russia came nowhere near what was produced during, say, Stalin's time," he said. During the Suharto regime, one could be jailed for 25 years just for having a copy of Pramoedya Ananta Toer's Bumi Manusia ("This Earth of Mankind"). Malaysians, he remarked, are more fortunate. "We're not oppressed enough." I hope nobody from the Special Branch were taking notes.

Khoo also touched on the tendency of some Asian writers to overly romanticise their past, "trotting out their grandmothers," as he said. "Rice mothers, Japanese lovers, mangoes falling from my grandma's tree... ." I empathised with that sentiment. After flipping through a few pages of Rice Mother some time back, I didn't feel like reading the rest.

Earlier, Khoo also said that the home is where the habit can be nurtured. This probably explains why my reading preferences have always leaned towards non-fiction. I grew up reading encyclopaedias, issues of Reader's Digest, and later, stuff such as TIME and National Geographic. Why do we need other worlds, anyway? Looking glasses, magic wardrobes and intergalactic vessels, as I understand, are hard to come by. As a Discovery Channel slogan goes, "The world is just awesome." Despite its flaws, it still is.

Chuah was almost livid when the others were done painting a depressing picture of Malaysian literature. So what if there are stumbling blocks, political consciousness, and the like, she asked exasperatedly. "Can't we use our imagination to write around them?"

She gave one example: Lloyd Fernando's 1976 novel Scorpion Orchid, which was extensively written about. On the surface, it seems to be about racial conflict, but Chuah contended that it was about nationhood, a discourse on social integration in the 1970s. To see things like that, she said, one has to be trained to look at how writers write.

Even though he's a politician, I found a lot of Zaid Ibrahim's responses and replies disappointingly "safe" and politically correct.

So who can save Malaysian literature? How do we create readers and writers? "Institutions can play a role, but we cannot completely depend on them," was Khoo's reply to an audience member's question. "The autodidact, the person who educates himself, is the most important educator."

It was an interesting discussion, and Khoo made what I thought was a pertinent point. With our so-called leaders playing power games and our institutions seemingly sliding further down international rankings, perhaps it falls upon each and every one of us who can to learn, not just to read and write, but to better ourselves as well.

But I also wonder: Do we really have what it takes?

Writing Again

I got a laptop PC to make my writing life easier. and it would have, if it wasn't connected to the Internet. That's when I decided to unplug.

I've started taking my writing off the machine, and going back to paper and pens of several colours. After years of typing, editing and mouse-clicking, there's a certain kind of gratification in watching ink flow and paper being filled up - free from the distractions coming from cyberspace.

I've never felt so productive. When the time comes to type it all in, though, I will remember to disconnect first - just in case.

In the long list of advice and tips for writers out there, one rule keeps echoing: "Just do it." Which is what I'm doing now.

I'm writing again, and I'll keep writing.

Old-School Writing

This review, my suggestion for a pre-Merdeka thing, was a bit hard to write because I had quite a bit to say about each book, and I was mentally doing the trimming, before getting it on paper. It was also the first time I've done anything like this. I'm glad it all worked out.

I bought a copy for archiving, of course. So, who wants a cut-out coupon?

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Old-school writing

These three books set before Merdeka are still relevant to today's Malaysia

first published in The Star, 29 August 2010


AS the 53rd anniversary of our independence approaches, I wonder, given how technological advances have forced drastic changes in our reading and writing habits, if Malaysia will see the death of books by Aug 31, 2020.

What brought this question to mind was the rather serendipitous discovery of several books written by foreigners, set in the Malay Peninsula before Merdeka, all re-issued or published by Singapore's Monsoon Books.

Monsoon's Merdeka reads:The Golden Chersonese, And The Rain
My Drink and The Malayan Life of Ferdach O'Haney

The first one to catch my eye was The Golden Chersonese: A 19th-Century Englishwoman's Travels in Singapore and The Malay Peninsula by Isabella Bird, the renowned British travel writer.

The name "Golden Chersonese", or Aurea Chersonesus, was bequeathed by Roman-Egyptian mathematician and scientist Ptolemy and alluded to the wealth in gold thought to be found on the Malay Peninsula in ancient times. (Either Ptolemy was just being dramatic or some rapacious pirate back then took all that gold away, leaving us to depend on Petronas' dwindling annual profits.)

The book records Bird's travels in Hong Kong, Singapore and Tanah Melayu (an early version of 1Malaysia) in 1879, and like most of her works, was written as a bunch of letters to her sister back in Britain.

Unusually for a woman of her time and place, her case of wanderlust was said to be so severe that she would get sick if she stayed home. Her travel writing made her famous, and in 1892, she became the first female member of Britain's venerable Royal Geographical Society.

Her very scholarly, emotionally distant writing is accompanied by her own finely-detailed sketches. Of course, she's not without her conceits. She abhors, for instance the use of "pidjun English" by the Chinese she encounters in Hong Kong. Most of the time, though, she tells it like it is, as she attests in the preface.

One can feel the cockles of one's heart warm with familiarity at her mention of local delicacies, landmarks and people, even though she describes the Peninsula as "very hot, and much infested by things that bite and sting".

Eighty years after Ms Bird's departure from the Not-So-Golden-Anymore Chersonese – now called Malaya – the Emergency (the Communist insurgency that lasted from 1948 to 1960) descends on a more developed and cosmopolitan Peninsula.

Author Han Suyin was a Chinese doctor from Henan who practised in Malaya during the Emergency. The title of her book, And the Rain My Drink, comes from an old Chinese ballad and refers to what the Communists were willing to endure do create their idea of a just country.

This book features a large cast (all conveniently listed at the beginning of the book). Among the Malays, Indians and gwailos are many Chinese: tycoons and their scions, Communist insurgents and sympathisers, and innocent bystanders who get caught up in the mess.

The focus of the story shifts among the various dramas being played out among these people, though one common thread is a girl, a Communist-turned-informer, who survives through betrayal.

The prose is vivid, almost poetic, and meanders like the long strokes by a Chinese calligrapher's brush, but that feeling tapers off towards the end of the tale. Except for one chapter, taken out of a hardened, jungle-dwelling insurgent's diary, the whole thing has the feel of a classic Chinese painting, which takes time and a poetic soul to appreciate. Tweeting, iPad-carrying Gen-Y-ers might not get this one.

One character who could very well have appeared in Han's timeline would be Frederick Lees' protagonist in The Malayan Life of Ferdach O'Haney. Known as Ferdie to his friends, the protagonist is a young Anglo-Irish fellow who, like the author, left Britain to serve in the British Colonial Service in Malaya in 1950.

Even before the boat leaves Britain, we get the idea that O'Haney is a flawed character. Opinionated, self-righteous, over-analytical though honest to a fault, he nevertheless tries his best at whatever he's given – when he's not, among other things, banging other people's wives and sisters-in-law, rolling in the hay with young local men (yes, you read right), getting mixed up with Communists and spies, and telling us how well-read he is. He also becomes the "postman" for peace talks between Communist insurgents and British High Commissioner Sir Henry Gurney, with terrible results.

After Bird's genteel jottings and Han's lyrical pen-strokes, Lees' journalistic, in-your-face style jars the senses like an air-raid alarm. Though realistic and colourful, the narrative is a little long in some places.

The author's attempt, I think, to blend autobiography with fiction has resulted in a collision: the soliloquies tend to get in the way of an entertaining story. But fans of cranky, opinionated, grizzled veterans of their profession will find reason to like it, quite apart from the juicy bits and conspiracy theories.

These books are clearly products of their authors' lives and times, to be read and enjoyed the way books were back then. Though I must say that the social commentary in the two Emergency-era novels, parroted by the authors' alter-egos, is still relevant today, and still being echoed by ... virtually everyone.

Narratives that don't walk on eggshells make refreshing reads, but I also worry: For instance, will Bird's use of the word "kling" (in reference to Indians, now considered derogatory), and the stereotypes in these books, kick these books off the shelves? Will people talk about them instead of sitting down to enjoy three good stories?

Ah, well, I'll leave the debates to others. Myself, I'm curling up with this lovely set of reads for a long Merdeka weekend. Better hurry before paper books and old-school writing go out of fashion.

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The Golden Chersonese

A 19th-century Englishwoman's Travels in Singapore and the Malay Peninsula

Isabella Bird
Monsoon Books Pte Ltd
Non-fiction
352 pages
ISBN: 978-981-08-4484-4

And The Rain My Drink

Han Suyin
Monsoon Books Pte Ltd
Fiction
260 pages
ISBN: 978-981-08-4485-1

The Malayan Life of Ferdach O'Haney

Frederick Lees
Monsoon Books Pte Ltd
Fiction
572 pages
ISBN: 978-981-08-2382-5